


Never Meet Your Heroes

by Kittycattycat



Category: Deltarune (Video Game)
Genre: Altered Mental States, Angst, Awkwardness, Bullying, Child Abandonment, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gen, Hero Worship, It’s never outright stated but.... :(, King Spade is a very good and kind man... up until he isn’t anymore., Loneliness, POV Second Person, Poverty, Pre-Canon, Rouxls lives by himself in a forest and has like no outside contact, Social Anxiety, Unrequited Crush, Violence, a lot of offscreen awful stuff, at least we’d hope so, hes socially stunted yall, just a little?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:00:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25478797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kittycattycat/pseuds/Kittycattycat
Summary: His smile teeters a little bit, the corners of his mouth twitching downwards almost imperceptibly, and you instantly feel as if you've messed this up already.
Relationships: Rouxls Kaard & King of Spades
Comments: 1
Kudos: 14





	Never Meet Your Heroes

Your name is Rouxls Kaard. You are roughly eleven years old (you've lost track of dates and birthdays just like everyone else down in the Dark World) and you live in the forest.

It's not a very lavish life, but you enjoy what you have and wouldn't give it up for anything in the world (blatant lies.) Your home is a shabby shack, filled with primarily only the bare essentials. A hard bed with a few hole-filled sheets. A large, moss-riddled stone that covers up a small hole near the base of one wall and blocks out any cold air that might seek to come in. A small wooden cabinet, one that has long since fallen off the wall, that contains an even smaller box of semi-stale salt-free saltine crackers and a half-empty clear jar you had once filled to the brim with freshly acquired worms and small bugs. (You need to refill, your stomach reminds you with a grumble, before you end up too hungry to do it.) All of that, and then a pile of ‘clothes’ comprised mostly of what are essentially rags at this point— your fashion is basically nonexistent. It has to be, where would you get nice things?

The clothes you wear are often tattered and worn and dirty and don't smell as perfume does, but they're comfortable and keep your weak, temperature-sensitive body from becoming too cold and freezing up on you. It's just so cold down here in the Dark World. Always has been, from what you've heard. You don't have weather down here, and it seems like nothing ever changes.

(You heard from an older monster, a gentleman with a funny smile and worn-out clothes that looked like yours and a unique look that made you almost unable to tear your eyes away from him, that Darkners used to live somewhere much warmer. Or at least, they had the ability to travel to such a place. He told you that it's been a very, very long since any Darkner has seen the sun in the sky 

What is the ‘sun?’ That word was new to you. None of the books you've collected have had that word in them, and you didn't understand. You asked this stranger what the sun is, and he let out a dry, cotton-filled wheeze. He told you that it is an old word, a word so unused and unheard of that only the oldest Darkners remember it ever being said. Even fewer ever actually saw the sun itself, felt it’s rays against their skin. Himself, the kings, and maybe a few others that he cannot recall with certainty, he said. You nodded, even though you noticed that he blatantly did not actually answer your question. You did not ask him again. He did not say much more, simply wandered off at a slow, steady pace. His shoulders drooped as he walked. For some reason, it had made you frown.)

You want to be a puzzle maker someday. You have amassed many books on puzzle-making, and other books in general; they are mostly from discarded stacks of torn-up novels and papers that are nigh unreadable due to carelessness and disrepair you find near old trees and muddy patches. You wonder why they have been so carelessly tossed away. You hope that perhaps someday you will find a book that provides an answer to that question. You have not yet, but you also have not yet given up hope!

Many pages are missing from the puzzle books you find, and many of the pages you have anyways are not there in full, torn into half-sheets or covered in mud or stained with spilt water so that the ink bleeds and the paper falls to bits at the lightest touch. But it is what you have, and you enjoy it. 

You make puzzles sometimes, and show those who come by your home. Almost no one comes by your home, as it is very much hidden, but that is okay. Still though, sometimes, someone will come when the bell-ringer announces it as two o’clock in the afternoon (you have to have a bell ringer, there is no other way to keep time. The bell ringer sometimes loses track, though, so it's not always accurate. That's fine. Not like time truly matters down here anyways.) 

The someone is not very nice. They have yet to give you their name (any of their names? Or do all three share a name?) despite the fact that you introduced yourself upon your first meeting and therefore gave them yours. Two heads refused to introduce themselves at all, and while the remaining third apologized softly for the others’ rudeness, they gave you no name to call them either. (You like the third one the best, the quiet one. So polite. They try so hard, and you appreciate the effort more than you can ever express.)

Sometimes (many times) they (two of the three) mock you about your lack of skill in the area of puzzle-making, and sometimes (all times) it gets to you.

But in a place like this, determination and perseverance is all you have to claim as yours, really. You will continue to provide your ‘friend’ with new puzzles when they decide to come by your home, and they will continue to laugh and laugh and laugh as they kick the lightweight block atop the large button with their feet. They are so very, very young, but they solve your puzzles with seemingly absolute ease. You will outsmart them someday. You tell them this, and they continue to laugh uproariously.

———  
Your name is Rouxls Kaard. You are roughly seventeen years old, and for the first time (the very first time) you are seeing the king of your suit in person.

Sure, the other kings living inside of Card Castle and ruling over the Dark World are also your kings, and you respect and adore them as much as anyone else does, but King Spade is your king, belonging to your suit, and though you've seen not but a single picture of him before in all your days of living, you know that he looks even more magnificent and grand than you imagined.

Slowly, carefully, you peek your head out from behind the tree you're using to hide yourself. The King is there, still wearing his crown and caps as if he were sitting upon his large throne. He's practically a giant, so much bigger than he was in your head but just as regal and just as respectable, maybe even moreso. He pads gently down the trodden forest path with soft steps. Dead, fallen leaves crunch and small twigs break beneath his feet, but he pays no mind to any of it.

He's walking. Only walking. But even still, you can't tear your eyes away from him. Your heart is pounding in your chest but you just can't place why. You're leaning in further, further, further. You need a better angle, a better look. Maybe you could even work up the nerve to talk to him—

In your feeble attempts to gain a better view of him, you trip over a large tree root you could swear wasn't there before.

You immediately stumble hard, eventually not being able to balance yourself despite your frantic flailing and skittering and trying-to-cling-on-to-the-tree-trunk. You fall to the ground face-first, letting out a soft grunt as the impact jars your body and causes it to tense up. It doesn't hurt— your species is known for an incredibly high pain tolerance due to your bodies’ give— but what little pride you have definitely feels more than a bit wounded. Before you can get to your feet again, you hear heavy, thumping footsteps drawing closer to you. You freeze up instinctively, just barely managing to lift up your head from the ground. A small leaf is stuck against your sticky form, but you hardly even notice now. The King is a large, looming figure over you, and his pudgy arm is reaching out towards you with an open palm and parted fingers. Is he… trying to help you up?

“What is your name, child?”

Your voice catches hard in your throat, rendering you unable to speak for just a moment. The King continues to hold his hand outstretched towards you and smiles patiently. His face is very much dog-like, and though you of course knew that beforehand, it's still a bit jarring to see up close for the first time. With a flat, semi-squished face and a large wet nose and a little dog mouth (filled with large dog teeth) he almost seems… cute. Your face goes a brighter shade of indigo at that thought. 

“…Rouxls K-Kaard,” you finally manage, reaching up with a violently shaking and slightly sweaty hand to grab his large, paw-like one. He stretches down a bit further and hoists you up a bit as you scramble to stand on your feet, brushing away the stray leaf that had stuck itself to your face as you go.

His smile widens, still just as friendly and warm as it was before while he was lifting you, “Rouxls Kaard… what a magnificent name.”

You nearly choke. “I-I…th-thank you, sir,” and you can't hold back a remark of, “I chose it myself.”

His smile teeters a little bit, the corners of his mouth twitching downwards almost imperceptibly, and you instantly feel as if you've messed this up already. You had a good run for like two minutes. Oh well you guess. 

“…Where do you live, Kaard?” he asks gently.

Confusion surely shows on your face. “In… In the forest, sir.”

His eyebrows raise marginally, “I never knew there were folk still living in those forests. I thought they had all been cleared out years ago, when the paths were first created.”

You nod, “Aye. Most were. But my humble home is hidden deep in the woods. There are no paths that even draw close to me. I am very much isolated and cut off from those outside of me.”

King Spade pauses, an expression you cannot recognize coming over his face. “So, you…live by yourself there, hmm?”

“Yes, I am the only one to liveth there.”

He opens his mouth a few times before closing it again, as if deciding what to say to you next.

“Would you liketh to come over for tea?” you blurt, and he snaps his mouth closed quickly, looking surprised. Immediately, your face burns brightly with embarrassment, “I-I am so very sorry! Of course you cannot do such a silly thinge, you have a kingdom to help run. It was ridiculous of me to even ask something like that of y—”

“I would love to.”

You turn to him, eyes gone wide and face still hot. He's looking at you with a joyful expression, excited but also calm and serene. He's pleased with what you've said and done, and you feel as if you could melt into a puddle right then and there underneath his gentle gaze.

———

Your name is Rouxls Kaard. You are roughly twenty years old, and one of the four kings is seated in front of you sipping from a small teacup that looks absolutely comical in his large hands. 

One brief hour or so of tea together one day several years ago turned into two days, turned into five days, turned into occasional visits once every month or so, and finally then turned into you opening your home to the great and mighty King of Spades once a week for a conversation over home-brewed tea. Sometimes the mood of the get-together is serious, and sometimes it is light. Sometimes you talk about everything at once, and sometimes you talk about nothing at all. No matter what, you can confidently say that you have never been happier. The King says something similar one day, and you feel as if you could cry from sheer joy.

“Rouxls,” the King says, because he is long since past the point of referring to you by your surname even though you continue to regard him only by title, “are you happy living in this forest all by yourself?”

Aah. He has asked you several questions like this in the past, particularly when the two of you were less well-acquainted with one another. “As happy as always, Sir. Perhaps even moreso. A new group of insects have begun to cluster around a tree not too far from here!”

He smiles widely. “That sounds quite amazing, Rouxls! I know how excited you get about such things— you must show them to me sometime! …But, I suppose… do you truly not get bored out here?” 

Your eyebrows draw together momentarily, and he jumps in to correct himself, “Not to say that you do not have a wonderful home and many hobbies to keep yourself entertained with! It is just… I worry that you may feel as if things are stagnant. I would not want my friend to become so uninterested in life with nothing much new.”

Flattered by his concern, you cock your head, fingertips tapping gently along the side of your teacup. “… There are days sometimes when things seem repetitive, boring. Normally I am able to find something to keep myself occupied with, though.”

“The reason I ask, Rouxls,” the King continues, and you look over to him, “I was somewhat wondering if you would consider having a position in my castle.”

And you could never deny the request of a king.

———

It is later, so much later, and guilt wracks your body like a tidal wave from the ocean crashing down upon you without mercy. You know you should be worried for the three other kings ruling inside of Card Castle. You know you should be worried for the other party-goers stuck in the crossfire. You know you should be worried for yourself, and wondering if you'll make it out of here without injury or whether you'll make it out at all. But the only thoughts coming to your mind are that King Spade, the one you idolized for so many long years of childhood and teenage formation, no longer exists. Or perhaps, just maybe, he never did. 

(The screams go silent. There are only footsteps now. Thudding hard, not padding softly away. There is no sound of crunching leaves, only of crackling glass shards.)

The second option, you decide with a shudder, is infinitely more terrifying. 

———

The King of Spades, or whoever it is he has become now, finds you eventually. You always knew he would.

His face is perfectly blank. He growls, before apparently deciding he cares little for you. He turns to walk away. You don’t understand him. It feels like you don’t understand anything anymore.

“S-Sir… the others…” you murmur, hardly audible even to your own ears. Even as your face burns hot the room feels very, very cold.

He looks back, sneering as he glowers down at you, “They're just the same damn pieces, Kaard. Pull yourself together.”

And so you do.

**Author's Note:**

> Old fic I wrote when DeltaRune first came out. Not edited since then so the writing is blech but I still rather like it, so here it is.


End file.
